


Tough Love

by St3go



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Banter, Confessions, Depression, Emotionally Repressed, M/M, Pining, Unresolved, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:34:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St3go/pseuds/St3go
Summary: The sanctuary that Kirkwall offered Hawke had not been all he’d imagined. He’d been lucky to find such a fast friend in Varric, but trouble seemed determined to remain on his heels. They’d made it out of the Deep Roads—in good condition even, for those of them that had survived… But life after so much loss had pushed Hawke to his breaking point. Can he accept what happened and allow himself to thrive in the life that remains?
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Tough Love

“Can I speak candidly with you, Varric?” Hawke dug his nails into the grooves of his tankard, not daring to meet Varric’s eyes.

“Since when do _you_ ask permission to speak your mind, Hawke? Especially _my_ permission?” Varric couldn’t get through his questions without laughter.

“Not candid…” Hawke gulped down more of his warm ale, brow furrowing in thought as he wiped his mouth. “In confidence.”

“You know I can keep a secret—though I can’t guarantee I won’t steal it for a story…”

Hawke released an immense sigh and stared at the table between them, fingers returning to pick at his stein.

“Maker, Hawke,” concern crept into Varric’s voice, “is everything alright?”

Hawke brought a hand to his brow, rubbing his temples with his middle finger and thumb.

“Varric…” he rolled his head back looking almost pained to let the words cross the threshold of his lips. “I…” another sigh. “I think I’m in love.”

Although Varric tried, he could not contain the bellowing laugh that erupted within him.

“Hawke!” Varric’s laughter slowly subsided but his amusement carried through his words. “I’m _flattered_!” he placed his hand over his heart, nearly choking on his drink. “Though maybe you’ve had one too many.” He reached for Hawke’s cup.

“You halfwitted asshole, you think I’d fall for a dwarf as ugly as you?” Hawke quipped, though the stress of his confession still weighed on his features.

“Give me that!” Hawke snatched his drink and clung to it possessively.

“What? You think you’re the most _handsome_ man that’s ever been duped by Tethras charm?” Varric tossed his head from side to side, batting his eyelashes. “You’d be a step _down_ for me, Hawke!”

Varric’s wisecracking shook free the tension Hawke had been carrying, and a smile finally cracked his forlorn scowl. Hawke buried his face in his hands and laughed a sign of relief.

Varric looked on, trying to understand the kaleidoscope of emotions his friend was experiencing. “So what’s the big deal? Shouldn’t this be _exciting_?”

Hawke sat in thought. Varric had a way of making _anything_ sound like it should be exciting. Fuck, he’d followed him into the Deep Roads because of how the dwarf had sold it, hadn’t he? —and was still recovering from losing Bethany. …But he was sure Varric could convince him to do it again, without a second thought—if he just put the right spin on it.

“It’s…” Hawke paused, uttering odd vowel sounds as he searched for words to rationalize his hesitance. “Complicated.”

Varric leaned across the table, his interest piqued. “Don’t tell me Aveline’s caught your eye!” Varric hissed his whisper, satisfied by his deductive reasoning.

Hawke snorted and shook his head, but it was too late—Varric was caught up in his own train of thought.

“Ooh, it’s _perfect_!” A glint shone in his eyes, the promise of a story too strong to be denied. “‘Law and the Lawless!’ …no. ‘Captain of the Guard and the Pilferer _of Passion_!’” With each suggestion, Varric’s hand swept in front of him as if he were seeing the words strewn in lights across the sky.

Hawke rolled his eyes and finished his drink, allowing Varric time to exhaust of his ideas.

Varric sighed. “I’ll think of something,” he waved a dismissive hand. “Time is on our side—it’s rare to strike lyrium with the first swing of the pickaxe!”

Varric’s gaze was stuck on the invisible words floating in mid-air. When he returned his attention to Hawke, he was disappointed by the nonplused look that greeted him.

“What?” Varric turned his palms towards the ceiling.

“It’s _not_ Aveline.” Hawke rolled his eyes at Varric and his fantastical imagination.

Varric drank from his tankard, not yet willing to accept defeat.

“Well, what’s more complicated than that?” Varric wondered. “Oh, is it Isab—”

“Just stop, will you?” Hawke pleaded with an exhausted groan.

Varric pursed his lips closed, raising his eyebrows and hands in vindication.

“It’s Fenris…” Palpable longing troubled Hawke’s voice, he dropped his eyes back to the table, awaiting Varric’s criticism.

“Broody?” Incredulity forced Varric’s voice to a higher pitch than usual, but he was quick on his feet so as not to prolong his friend’s distress.

“Now I _know_ you’ve had too much to drink.” Varric tipped Hawke’s mug towards himself only to find it empty. “So you prefer the _slender_ build, huh?… No wonder I could never draw your eye.” He added in wistful speculation.

Hawke cocked his eyebrow and stole a glance at Varric, whose demeanor had shifted to one full of compassion and encouragement.

Varric smiled warmly at Hawke and tried to console him. “What’s so complicated about that, Hawke? Huh? You’ve both fled dire situations and are trying to form some semblance of a life after all that’s been taken from you—there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Hawke barked a spiteful laugh, “His life as a magister’s _slave_, and mine as the _son and brother_ of a mage!” He was angry, but not at Varric. “You know he’d never trust or accept me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Varric coaxed. “He _lied_ to us to get us to kill those slavers that tracked him here from Tevinter, we could have been killed! …Then we cleared that mansion all for nothing!”

“He can depend on us to get a job done. It doesn’t mean he believes that I want to help him, that I _care_ about what he’s been through.”

“You scratched his back and he’s scratched ours! He’s been a great help to us in return for all of that…and you didn’t _force_ him to join us in the Deep Roads.” Varric added, unsure why it even had to be said. Hawke knew it.

“Just repaying the debt he felt he owed, no doubt” Hawke added in resignation.

“Pshh! That debt’s _been_ repaid! Don’t be so hard on yourself, Hawke! You know that isn’t true.” Frustration was edging its way into Varric’s voice. “You’ve built a solid foundation with him—and I know it wasn’t easy! And _now_ we’re following the leads I picked up on slaver activity—due to _your_ insistence.”

Varric was worked up seeing his friend beat himself up in this way—Hawke had taken _all_ the blame for Bethany joining them in the Deep Roads, and seemed determined to hold on to that burden as payment for what he was convinced he’d done to her—and it hurt Varric to see the shift it had caused in his once carefree friend.

“I’d be a hairy nug if Fenris didn’t trust you.” Varric crossed his arms and held Hawkes gaze with his own piercing stare. “He depends on _you_, flat out! Not on what you can do for him!” He laughed derisively, “And you’re as _blind_ as a nug if you can’t see it!”

Varric turned aside and mumbled more to himself than to Hawke, “It’s time you saw us as your friends again, not just your _colleagues_.”

Hawke slumped against his arm that was propped on the table. Varric took a deep breath to calm his nerves—he wasn’t sure he’d helped Hawke, but hadn’t meant to bring him further down.

“Why do I talk to you, Varric?” Hawke lamented. “Always making me feel better when it’s the _last_ thing I want.”

Varric was relieved to see his friend smile. “You came to me, Hawke! I can’t help my charm, you know this!” He winked at Hawke and rolled his eyes when Hawke buried his face in the crook of his elbow to laugh.

“C’mon, let’s get another drink—you need to be allowed to _feel_.” Varric directed Hawke to the bar.

With fresh mugs, they returned to their table. Hawke drank his eagerly, hoping to avoid any further discussion about his feelings—or inability to process them. Though halfway through his tankard he carried on without prompting.

“I just can’t face another defeat.” He stared glumly into the swirling foam in his cup.

Varric acknowledged that he’d heard Hawke with an indifferent hum, knowing his silence would extract more from his friend.

“It’s just… _easier_ to do nothing and wonder about the possibility—to risk losing something that _could be_ in order to hold onto the small hope of a chance, rather than forever having the fantasy destroyed.”

Varric half stood and leaned forward, reaching across the table to set a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Sure, you’ve been dealt a shitty hand,” it was a vast understatement and was odd the way even Varric’s condolences could come across sounding so buoyant …but they were alive, had escaped the blight, and were even making a bit of coin. He sat back down, took a swig of ale, then casually added, “But when you’re face to face with an ogre, will you fight harder to protect your _imagination_ or your love?”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Varric, his mouth twisted to one side as he considered the dwarf’s words. Varric looked back with a self-satisfied grin.

“You bastard.” Hawke snorted then took another sip. As he set his stein down, the Hanged Man’s door swung open. Anders stumbled in and caught his companion’s eyes.

Hawke turned back to Varric and pushed to his feet, “I can’t deal with this right now.” He brushed past Anders with an infinitesimal nod and made for the door.

A jilted Anders was still staring back and forth between Varric and the door as he took Hawke’s place.

“What’s eating him?”

“Just let him be, Blondie.” Varric pleaded calmly, pushing Hawke’s unfinished ale to Anders’s hands.

* * *

Hawke trudged up the steps towards Hightown, but when he reached the top decided against the short path back to his estate. He didn’t pay attention to where his feet took him as he wandered about—admittedly not the safest choice for the hour—but it helped him clear his mind and regain control of rational thought over the self-deprecating views he’d fed Varric.

Before he knew it he’d reached a barrier, and before he was ready found himself rapping lightly against the door. It was late. He knew he should return home, but he waited anyway—not expecting an answer—deciding he could at least feel satisfied for trying.

Not yet ready to give up, but not wanting to disturb again, he leaned against the entry wall, quietly thumping his forehead against the door. Maybe another day he’d have the same resolve, for tonight it seemed would yield no resolution…but then he heard stirring on the other side of the door. A chain quietly clacked against the wood and the handle jostled.

Hawke stood quickly, adjusting his posture—chest tightening. The door cracked slightly, only a glimmer of white hair shone in the pale light that greeted him.

“Hawke?” Fenris rubbed his large, emerald eyes with the heel of his hand, then pulled the door open wider, revealing his slight frame—the absence of armor making him appear delicate even.

“It’s late to be calling.” Fenris noted calmly, though with slight confusion. “Is everything alright?"

This had been a mistake…but it was too late to turn back now.

“Yes, I uh… Sorry to disturb you.” Hawke shifted his weight back on his heels. “May I come in?”

Fenris obliged, stepping aside and gesturing for Hawke to follow him in. He stood by the door a moment wondering if he should keep it open, but when Hawked moved deep into the foyer he closed it, not expecting it to be a brief call.

Hawke stared at his feet, his back towards Fenris and the door. …Maybe there was something to what Varric had said? It was the middle of the night and he’d been welcomed in to the old mansion.

Silence lingered between the men—Hawke unsure of what to say, where to begin, and Fenris waiting to learn what was troubling his companion at such an hour.

“Can I get you anything?” Fenris asked tentatively, breaking the long silence.

Hawke laughed to himself. There was nothing he wanted from Fenris at this moment except for the chance to be heard—he certainly didn’t need or expect to be catered to like a guest during his intrusion.

Hawke turned to find concern spread over Fenris’s face, and it was instantly clear—Varric was right. He dipped his head and smiled as he quietly cursed the dwarf’s name. He’d been so consumed by his own self-loathing that he’d forgotten he _did_ have friends…others who’d experienced the losses he’d felt, who had seen the way he’d been carrying himself for the past several months, and that wanted to see him recover—to be at least a semblance of the man he’d been before the Deep Roads expedition.

So much had been taken from Hawke in the previous years: his father, his hometown, his brother…his sister. He was suddenly overcome by the realization that what _remained_ in his life was good. He felt, for the first time in a _long_ time, that he deserved not just companionship, but happiness…and love.

“Fenris,” Hawke looked up, clasping his hands in front of himself, twisting his fingers nervously together. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Fenris’s concern shifted to confusion as he stood before Hawke.

“Well…would you like to sit down?” He gestured towards the more comfortable den just off the entranceway.

“This is fine.” Hawke looked around him, feeling as comfortable here as he would anywhere—and allowing himself an easy exit should it be required. He took a seat on a cushioned bench nearby, briefly cupping his palms over his mouth and nose, then sat up as he gently slapped his palms over his knees and began with a deep breath.

“Fenris, I’ve not been myself lately. _So much_ has happened that’s left me feeling trapped in a pit of despair…but …through all of that, I can’t help but feel happy when I’m around you.”

His eyes closed as he spoke, sealing a last harmonious view of Fenris in his mind before what he was sure would be unlimited repulsion and hostility. He sighed and cracked his eyelids to find the elf’s marked toes standing not far from his own feet, then looked up and found a face that revealed curiosity rather than disgust.

Hawke took another bracing breath and continued…


End file.
